How Soon Is Now?
by AngryBadgerGirl
Summary: MY ENTRY FOR NAUGHTYHEELS CONTEST. I just never got around to posting it here. Edward is an outcast determined to hate h.s. life, until one day a new girl changes his perception of what it means to need love and to give love. E/B, AH. M FOR 80s TEEN LEMON


**Hey there! This was my entry for the NaughtyHeels Anonymous One-Shot Contest from forever ago. I kept meaning to post it on my own FF account, so here it is. Hope you like it. It's not romantic comedy, believe it or not. I had to channel my inner creeper-wearing, black lipstick smearing emo-girl of my youth. Yes, I was young once. Long ago, in a galaxy, far, far away.**

**Summary: Edward is the high school outcast, determined to dread every last day of high school life, until one day a new girl from out of state changes his perception on what it means to need love and want to give love.**

**Insprired by the song 'How Soon Is Now?' by The Smiths.**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, but I do own Meat Is Murder on vinyl.**

I fucking hate this place.

Fucking

Hate

This

Place.

I've lived in Forks all my life and I can't imagine a worse hell to have to endure than living in this small town, with its small minded people, and their small ideas, small aspirations, small dreams and small ambitions.

Forks is a coffin ten sizes too small for my body, my mind, and my soul. Everyday I dream—no, I _fantasize_ about being cremated, turned into ash, dust, tiny little particles. Maybe if it happened literally, I'd stop feeling like it metaphorically.

I am insignificant in a place that is insignificant to me. No, the fucking irony is NOT lost on me, so shut the fuck up.

I have two brothers who are twins named Emmett and Jasper. Two All-American red-blooded, able-bodied good kids with good grades, nice friends, sweethearted girlfriends and not one cavity between either of them.

Emmett is the star football player and king of the jocks—the only reason why the jocks never torment me is because Emmett would beat the shit out of them if they did. While I suppose I should be grateful, it makes my blood boil to have a fucking bodyguard I never even asked for. Maybe I want those assholes to start shit with me. Maybe I want to get beaten black and blue so people could see what those guys really think of me. I'd get a couple of good punches in myself. I'm no coward—fuck, I'd take them on two, three at a time. Fuck getting my teeth knocked out. I don't give a shit.

Jasper is the picture-perfect preppy. He has stellar people skills and the pristinely non-offensive wardrobe to match. He is Mr. Button-Down Oxford and Neatly Pressed Khakis. On the weekends, he really goes nuts and wears one of his many Izod Lacoste shirts with the collar pulled up. One doesn't have to be overtly ostentatious to have the intended effect, after all. You can be subtle about it but still look like a complete douche-bag. The worst part: Jasper looks every bit the dillhole, but he's actually a nice guy. He's a decent dude in an asshole costume. Jazz makes friends with everyone—it's just who he is. He's active in student government and got elected class president by a landslide. The kid is a born schmoozer and expert at telling people exactly what they want to hear.

My parents love my brothers. They fucking lose their minds over how proud they are.

Then there's me.

I wasn't always such a bitter, angry, fucked up mess. In fact, there was a time when I was pretty upbeat and friendly. I was, and still am, considered the brain of the family. As a little kid, I had a natural curiosity about everything. My mom says that I take after my dad, who's a doctor and pretty smart himself. I taught myself how to read when I was like four or something. Teachers wanted me to skip grades but my mom didn't like the idea.

I was fine with being all brainy and shit until high school. That's when everyone else decided to be an asshole over the fact that I'm really intelligent. I got labeled a 'nerd' because I was short, pencil-necked, wore glasses and had some serious hardware on my teeth, complete with headgear.

My freshman year was a daily living hell. Kids either teased the fuck out of me (when my brothers weren't around) or just ignored me completely. Other nerdy kids wanted to add me to their group of misfits, but I didn't need their company or their fucking pity. I decided then and there to keep my own fucking company and I liked it that way.

I'm also a really good musician—piano and guitar especially. But since I don't have a single fucking friend, let alone a friend who's also musically inclined, I just write and play my own stuff. I'm really into bands that no one else has heard of, and the only ways to get the albums I want is to special order them through the mail, or go to Seattle on the weekends to trawl the indie record stores.

So all in all, I'm a complete and utter social failure. That is, at least I _was—_until this year. I'm a junior in high school now. Over this past summer, I finally got rid of the braces, my skin cleared up, I got taller, and developed muscle mass. Lifting weights in my basement started to pay off because my body's finally entering the final stages of puberty—complete with chest hair and the need to shave. I ignore the shaving mostly. Fuck that 'personal grooming' shit. I don't even brush my hair. It's all fucked up and crazy-looking no matter what I do with it, anyway.

There are girls at school that are pretty, I guess, but their personalities seriously make me want to vomit. I've managed to make out with a couple of them. Lauren Mallory lets me touch her tits when she thinks no one will catch us. Jessica Stanley could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch and gave me head once. It felt good but I took an hour-long shower afterward to try and wash the invisible stigma off my dick. No luck there. I haven't let her suck it again since. I'd rather avoid blowing chunks _and_ my load simultaneously.

So today I'm sitting in biology, and as usual, I work alone because no one wants to be my lab partner. Well, there are two reasons. First, I'm way smarter than any of these fuckers, so no one would be able to keep up with me. Second, I'm the class outcast and no one wants to hang with the weird guy, no matter how smart he is.

"Good afternoon, class," I hear Mr. Banner, my bio teacher, say to us. I don't bother looking up from the book I'm reading. I don't even need to pay attention. I'm reading some Salinger poetry at the moment and it's far more interesting than any of the repetitive crap I'd have to listen to during his lecture.

"We have a new student at our school. She's just moved here from out of state and I want you all to welcome her to Forks and to our school," he explains.

Great, fresh meat. Maybe that'll take the weird stares and disgusted looks off of me for a while. I wonder how long it'll take for this new sheep to get lovingly welcomed into the fold. Probably all of one day.

I look up and have to blink a few times. I think maybe one of my contacts fell out because I can't be seeing what I think I'm seeing.

This girl looks undeniably…pretty?

Undeniably…sweet?

Undeniably…innocent?

There are no girls at Forks High with any of these attributes. They're all catty, phony and manipulative. Even the 'nice' girls who date my brothers both had an agenda when they started dating them. There was no puppy love bullshit. Rose and Alice knew what they wanted and set out to get it. They care about my brothers, sure, but that shit was totally calculated.

Love at first sight is a huge pile of bullshit. Romeo and Juliet were fucking morons.

"Bella, why don't you have a seat next to Edward?" Banner says, pointing at the empty chair next to me.

I look up at her and try to look away really fast because that's usually the extent of the eye contact I make with most people, but I can't. I literally can't look away from this girl's face. It's like my mind is determined to memorize every last fucking detail of what she looks like.

I want it all burned into my memory—the different shades of browns and dark reds in her shiny long brown hair, the soft arch of her eyebrows, the subtle little crinkle in her forehead, her tiny turned up nose, the glossy, full lips that are pursed in a sort of pout. But the things I really can't tear my gaze from are her eyes. Those giant fucking sad brown eyes that curve up slightly into an almond shape, like fucking Bambi.

I'm so stuck on staring at her face that I don't see anything else about her. She's looking down at first, then lifts her head and looks right at me. Swear to God, all I could hear was the lyrics to my favorite Smiths song:

_I am human and I need to be loved  
__Just like everybody else does…_

I need to be loved. She needs to be loved. Maybe, just maybe, I could love this girl. And I don't care what the fuck I need to do, but maybe she'd love me back.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

I'm Edward 'Freak' Cullen. No one talks to me and that shit suits me fine. School is a joke, way too easy. People are sheep, way too stupid and easily swayed. I do not give a shit about anyone or anything except getting good grades so I can get the fuck out of this shit hole.

I see one pretty girl and all of a sudden everything is sunshine and flowers and puppies and kittens and rainbows?

Fuck that.

Fuck it gently with a chainsaw.

By the time this girl sits down, I hate her guts.

Of course we have to work together since it's a lab day. The work is beyond simple—identifying cell reproductive stages. I can do that shit in my sleep. Not even kidding, I read that stuff in my dad's old bio textbooks when I was, like, in the fourth grade.

I don't look at her the entire time we work together. I am pretty surprised, though, because she knows every answer just as quickly as I do. I even hear her make an annoyed huff whenever I double check her work.

I'm getting on her nerves. Good. This is, after all, only as it should be.

So every day this week we sit together but never say a word to each other. Some days she looks at me like she's about to say something, but I just roll my eyes and turn my head. I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to get to know her. What I find out about her if I do those things will just disappoint me, I know it.

_I like you, fantasy Bella. Real Bella will destroy you and then I'll have nothing to think about when I jerk off. No offense._

Only I can't really stick to my own plan. I sneak looks at her when she's concentrating on something else. The day after her first day, on Tuesday, I notice something that blows my fucking mind.

She's got a paperback book snuck inside her bio textbook. I slowly lean in and read the title on the top margin:

_The Catcher in the Rye_

Fuck me. It's only the greatest fucking book ever fucking written. Alright, who does this girl think she is—being pretty, smart, fucking pristine and unspoiled, but also exactly what I'd want in another person. Before I can look away, she looks up and her eyes lock with mine. I see her pouty little mouth start to form a smile but I have to look away. I just have to or it will fucking kill me.

_How the fuck am I going to stop thinking about her now?_

Once the bell rings at the end of bio, I fucking run like my ass is on fire to get to gym, where I sprint laps around the track until I feel like my lungs are going to explode. Then, I go straight to the shower stall in the locker room, picture her beautiful face by my crotch and her luscious mouth around my cock and finish jerking off in about 15 seconds. I do this every day the entire fucking week.

It's Friday afternoon and I'm fucking glad it's the weekend and that I'm finally driving myself home from school. On my way there, I see this shitty old red pickup stalled in the middle of the damned road. Then I notice _her._ It's fucking Bella stranded there with that shitty truck.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," I mutter before pulling over. I get out and walk over toward her and I automatically regret even looking at her and noticing her rickety old truck on this empty road, let alone stopping.

Why?

Because she's fucking crying, that's why.

I shake my head as I get closer to her, feeling like I have to be the most unlucky son of a bitch on the whole damn planet.

Why?

Because if there's one thing I can't handle, it's a pretty, sweet, nice girl…crying. And by pretty, sweet, nice girl, I mean Bella because she's the only girl I know who's all three of those fucking things, alright?

"Why the hell are you crying?" I bark, sounding really irritated as I approached her.

Her eyes snap up at me. They go from sad to extremely pissed off really, really quickly.

"Why the hell do you think, asshole? I'm stranded on the middle of a deserted road, in the rain with no friends to worry about where the fuck I am. And that's just the beginning," she blubber-yells at me. Her face is all red and scrunched up. I feel like shit for making everything worse, but that's just what I do.

"Well, I'm here," I offer, shrugging my shoulders.

"Yeah, that really makes up for a lot, ass-munch," she says between those weird hiccup sobs girls get when they're fucking hysterical.

"Fine, I can just go," I offer. I feel like someone punched me because seeing her cry is the worst thing ever. Maybe if I run off like a pussy, this suck-ass feeling will go away.

"Do you have to be such an asshole? I'm fucking stranded and my stupid boom box…" she yells.

"Your boom box?" I ask. I wish I had a clue what the hell she was babbling about.

"Yeah, it ate up my best mix tape—the one my friends made for me before I moved to this Bumfuck, Egypt town. When the tape got all warped, it distracted me and I hit a pothole really hard and my truck broke down," she chokes out before putting her hands over her face and just sobbing like nuts.

Whatever gets Bella to stop crying is what I'm willing to do, because at this rate, I'd be happy to chew off my own hand if it would just calm her the hell down.

"Here, lemme push this piece of shit out of the road and then I'll drive you home or wherever, how's that?"

"It's not a piece of shit! Shut the fuck up!" she hollers at me. Jesus, her face is all screwed up and she looks like hell—her eyes are puffy and her hair is soaking wet. Even her shirt is soaked. I can see her nipples poking through from how cold she is but I try not to look for too long or the wood I'm springing is going to humiliate me.

"Fine, sorry!" I offer quickly. "Can we please get out of the rain now? I'll push your truck out of the way and we can get the fuck out of here, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Edward," she mumbles.

It only takes me a minute to get her truck out of the way of oncoming traffic and onto the shoulder. When I'm done, I start walking to my car. I look behind me and Bella's just standing there in the middle of the road, staring at me and looking like a drowned rat.

"You coming or not?" I ask, getting annoyed.

"Why should I?" she answers, still crying.

"Suit yourself."

"Can you at least tell me why you even stopped to help me? You hate me."

"I'm not having a discussion with you out in the pissing rain, Bella," I snap. I walk back towards her and grab her arm so I can pull her towards my car.

"Let go of me!"

"No, get in the fucking car!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

And then, out of nowhere, she screams like a motherfucking banshee and starts punching me, her little fists pounding against my chest. It doesn't hurt or anything, but I'm getting ticked off at her being such a God damned crazy bitch.

"Stop hitting me, you psycho!" I yell, grabbing her wrists.

"Stop being nice to me, asshole!" she yells back. Now she's kicking me in the shins with her soaking wet high tops. She's crying so hard that there's all kinds of shit pouring out of her eyes and nose, and her voice is like a frog croaking.

I don't know what else to do, so I just wrap my arms around her really tightly in a bear hug. She squirms and keeps yelling, but she's not even using words anymore, she's just screaming at me.

"I'm sorry, Bella," is all I can think to say. If she's _this_ upset, I must have fucked up so badly. Nobody deserves to be this sad and angry, especially not a good girl like her.

"No, you're not!" she says over and over.

"I am. I swear I am. I'm so fucking sorry. Please stop crying," I beg.

I feel her arms finally move and hug me back. She's shivering like crazy, so I rub my hands up and down her back to warm her up. God, it feels so good to just touch her—not even in a sexual way, just to touch her, even if it's to warm her up or make her stop crying.

"I'm lonely, Edward. So damned lonely. I hate it here. I want the sun on my face. I want to smile again. Why are you here now? You don't give a shit if I smile," she rants.

She's shaking so badly from being cold and wet, and her teeth are chattering. I have to get her out of the rain.

"Please, Bella, you're freezing, if you get in my car, I'll tell you everything, okay?" I beg. She's shivering so much that she can't answer. She just nods her head.

I lead her to my car but first I grab a blanket from the trunk. I open the door and pull the seat forward, leading her into the backseat. I slide in next to her and pull the door closed.

For a few minutes, all I do is rub her with the blanket and hand her tissues so she can wipe up her face. We don't talk or anything. I can't really think of anything else but getting her to stop shaking and crying. Even though I don't talk, I keep trying to soothe her so she can calm down a little.

"It's okay, Bella, it's warm in here," I remind her. "I'll make you another tape. Don't cry," I tell her so she can be happy and stop bawling. It takes forever, but eventually she calms down enough that she stops shaking. Her crying is just a soft sniffle now.

She rests her head on my shoulder and her arms are snaked around my waist. I break away from her really quickly so I can take off my jacket. I pull my sweatshirt up over my head and try putting it on her, but she won't let me.

"You'll get cold," she argues.

"I'll be okay, I have a jacket," I reply with a smile.

She looks at me for a second. I watch her as she grabs the hem of her wet shirt and pulls it up, taking her shirt off. She's not wearing anything under it but a lacy white bra. I snap my head away, turning my face from her body. I'm afraid if I look at her see-through bra and her soft round tits, I'll never be able to look at anything else again.

"Why won't you look at me?" she asks.

"Because I shouldn't," I answer. "It's not right. I don't deserve to," I explain.

"I don't care. I want you to look," she insists. "Edward, turn around."

I turn my head and my eyes go right to her chest. I can see her pink nipples, so taut against the fabric of her bra. I want to touch them—pinch them with my fingers, lick them with my tongue.

"You're too pretty for me to look at," I tell her plainly. She just laughs.

"You're too nice for your own good," she replies. "Will you put your arms around me again? It felt…nice."

I hug her again, rubbing her back again, but this time it's bare except for her bra strap. She puts her hands on either side of my face, but I can't look at her.

"Bella, I've been such an asshole to you. You shouldn't give a shit about me, even if I am being nice to you right now," I tell her. "I feel like a complete waste of space. I should've been nicer to you. You never did anything to me. I was a dick just to be a dick. I'm sorry, Bella. I really am."

"I never thought you were an asshole. I kinda understood why you were so unfriendly. I see the way other kids at school treat you. Like you're…" she starts to say.

"Invisible?" I finish for her.

"Yeah. I know what it's like to feel invisible. I've been a ghost even before I moved here. I only had two really good friends in Phoenix. Now I don't even have them," she explains, her voice so delicate and vulnerable. I just want to make her feel better because I know the hurt she's feeling. I have the same exact kind of hurt running through me and it sucks worse than anything.

"I don't have any friends. Just my two brothers who have to hang out with me. It's not like they have a choice. So," I shrug, "I just don't give a shit about anyone. But you make me not want to feel like that anymore, Bella," I confess.

"I know what it's like to hate everyone and everything, Edward," she replies in a soft voice. "What do you think it's like moving to a new place with no friends, nothing in common with anyone—where the school is so easy, it's like repeating middle school?" she asks.

"You know, that sounds a little familiar," I say with a laugh. I look up at her face now, and her big brown eyes look so tempting, so inviting.

_Maybe she wants me to kiss her. Please God, let her want me to kiss her._

"Bella, I can't always be nice. I won't always be nice," I warn her.

"I won't always be happy. I can't always keep from crying and yelling," she warns back.

"I don't care," I tell her.

"Neither do I," she tells me back.

"I want to say it again, Bella. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was a dick to you. I was afraid if you knew how much I really wanted to talk to you, to get to know you, you'd just treat me like everyone else does. I was being a pussy, and you didn't deserve it," I confess.

"I get it, Edward. More than you know. And I don't think you're a dick just because you acted like one," she replies.

_I'm too lucky. After all the shit I've been through since freshman year, I'm still too lucky to meet this girl. But if she'll have me, I swear I'll be good to her._

Slowly, slowly, slowly, our faces inch closer and our lips touch. I feel her mouth open slightly and I gently poke my tongue between her parted lips. Her skin is still so cold, so I just keep rubbing her arms and back. She presses herself into me, and I can feel her tits against my bare chest.

"What was on your mix tape?" I ask, needing to stop before I cum in my pants.

"Oh, a bunch of stuff. The Cure, U2, The Smiths, all my favorite bands," she whispers.

"I have those albums. Want to go back to my house and listen to them?" I ask. "I can make you another tape," I add, hoping to cheer her up.

"Okay, I'd like that," she says with a smile. I make her put on my sweatshirt because I can't keep staring at her pretty tits or I won't be able to stop myself from touching them and I don't want to act like a prick to her anymore.

We go back to my house and I lend her one of my favorite t-shirts. It's the cover art from _The Queen Is Dead_ and she looks fucking amazing in it. She hasn't got her bra on—I can tell because her tits are jiggling like crazy and it's giving me the biggest fucking boner.

"I like the music you listen to," she tells me. "I have some of these albums, but not all of them."

"If you want, we can go to Seattle one weekend and I can take you to my favorite record stores," I offer nervously. I can't believe I just asked her out. But I also can't believe that _real Bella_ is as cool as _fantasy Bella_. I feel like I'm dreaming or something.

"Yeah, that would be cool," she answers, biting her lip. Her face turns that crazy, beautiful pink color.

I put my favorite album on the turn table and the speakers begin to play my favorite song.

_When you say 'It's gonna happen now,'__  
__Well, when exactly do you mean?__  
__See, I've already waited too long__  
__And all my hope is gone…_

"Edward?" Bella says looking at me from where she's sitting on my bed. I walk over and sit next to her.

"Yeah?"

"Is all your hope gone? Do you have any left…for me?" she asks quietly as she draws little circles with the tip of her finger on my bedspread.

I grab her finger and take her whole hand in mine. I kiss the back of it and pull her arm so that she's sitting on my lap.

"All the hope I have…you're the only person I'd give it to. Swear to God, pretty girl," I tell her. It's the most fucking honest, true thing I've ever said to another person in my entire fucking life.

"I think that's the most decent thing anyone's said to me since I moved here, Edward," she confesses in a small voice. I'm sick of feeling alone—just _so_ sick of it."

"Me too. Do you want to feel less alone…with me?" I ask. I try to stroke her cheek but my hand is shaking like crazy because I'm just nervous as hell. She takes it and kisses it on the front and the back.

"Are you freaked out, a little?" she asks.

"Yeah," I admit. I can't really lie to her. Her big brown eyes won't let me because they make me feel like they can see everything I'm feeling.

"So am I," she admits back. "Do you want to feel less freaked out…with me?" she asks. I nod my head and smile. She smiles back.

"I really want to touch you, pretty girl, is that okay?" I ask, afraid not to get permission first. I've already decided I'm not gonna be a dick anymore and I plan on sticking to it.

"Yeah, I really want you to. I kinda don't know what I'm doing though," she confesses with a nervous laugh. This makes me feel really happy for some reason, like less of a freak. It's probably because I don't know what I'm doing either.

"That's okay, neither do I," I reassure her. We're grinning like a couple of real idiots.

She wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes really tight. I can hardly breathe but I don't give a fuck. For once, I can actually _feel_ because of another person. I feel happy, curious, excited, horny, scared, and affectionate and a whole shit load of other things—just because of one person. It's all because she gives a shit and wants to talk to me, even though I was a dick to her.

She kisses me and it feels fucking amazing. We use our hands to explore each other everywhere. I pull off my shirt and she pulls off the one I loaned her. I can't stop staring at her chest but I don't want to touch it in case it makes her feel weird.

"It's okay, Edward, I want you to," she says, knowing what I'm thinking. I cup my hand over her right boob, massaging it softly. She closes her eyes and sighs—it's the most beautiful, soft little sound I've ever heard, more beautiful than the most perfect note on my guitar or piano. I want to make her sigh like that over and over. I'd never get tired of hearing it, ever.

"Do you like that?" I ask. She just smiles and hums for me.

"You're so beautiful, and smart, and I don't know how I'd ever keep you happy, pretty girl," I whisper into her ear.

"We don't need to keep each other happy; we just need to make ourselves happy. Come on, I thought you read Salinger," she jokes.

"Shit, pretty girl, saying stuff like that makes me wonder if you're real," I say with a smirk as I twirl a lock of her hair with my finger.

"I'm real and I'm here, and so are you," she murmurs, running her fingertip across my bottom lip.

"I'm going to kiss you again. And not stop," I inform her.

"I need to be loved, Edward. Just like everybody else does," she sighs, closing her eyes and easing herself back on the pillows, pulling me on top of her.

I settle between her thighs as our bodies move against each other. I feel like my dick's never been harder before in my life. In this moment, right fucking now, I want to show _my_ pretty girl just how happy I want to make her. I want to make her body feel like it's on fire, just like mine feels. I want to make her moan and sigh and hiss. I'll do anything to make her feel all of that.

She starts to fumble with my jeans and I fumble with hers.

"Are you okay with doing this stuff?" I ask because I don't want to force myself on her, even though there's nothing more I'd rather be doing than messing around with her.

"Yeah. Um, is it alright if we don't go all the way? I kinda want to wait with that," she admits. Her face blushes this insanely beautiful pink color. I don't know why the fuck she's embarrassed about wanting to wait. I think that's awesome. My dick disagrees but he'll survive.

"Sure, whatever you want is fine with me, pretty girl," I tell her, kissing her forehead.

"Thanks, pretty boy," she teases me. For that, I blow a raspberry into her neck and she laughs like crazy. The added bonus: her nipples get insanely hard from me doing that.

After kissing and touching for a little while longer, we lie side by side. I let my hand graze the smooth skin on her abdomen and feel her skin get all full of goose bumps. Her pants are unbuttoned and I let my fingers slip inside her panties. She gasps but just closes her eyes. She shifts over until she's as close to me as she can be. Turning toward me slightly, she lets out a soft moan and puts her hand on the trail of hair below my navel.

"I want to…also, is that okay?" she asks.

I almost want to laugh. Is it okay for her to feel up my dick?

"Yeah, but not if it's gonna make you feel weird," I offer. I just want to be nice to her, do stuff to make her feel good. She deserves it.

We look at each other then and just smile. We get each other, and that's really fucking cool. It's not awkward or forced. For once, I'm not with a girl just because I'm horny and need to get off.

"It's nice, being with you like this, Edward, it's not weird. Not at all," she tells me, and I know she feels the same way about this as I do.

My hand finds the warm wet spot between her legs, and even though I don't really have a clue what to do, she shows me how to touch and how fast. I do the same for her when her hand slips inside my boxers. Her soft fingers wrapped around my hard-on almost make me see double, but I close my eyes and thank God I already jerked off twice today.

My pretty girl starts to move her hips back and forth against my hand really fast and she starts to breathe really hard. The sight of that almost makes me cum on the spot but I want to hold off and make sure she feels good first.

"Yes, please, just like that, God, it's nice," she moans, arching her back and biting her lip.

"Fuck, pretty girl, I want to get you off so bad," I tell her as I feel the tension building at the base of my cock and my balls tighten.

"Edward! God, I'm coming, shit, shit, shit," she chants, writhing around as her head falls back.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," I blurt out, right before I jizz all over her hand and my stomach.

We take a minute to just calm the hell down because neither of us can breathe normally just yet. After a little bit, I look over at Bella and she's peeking at me with one eye open. She's got the biggest grin on her face and her hand still on my dick. That's fine because my finger's still on her pussy.

She bites her bottom lip but her whole body starts to shake. It must be fucking contagious because I start shaking too and before we can stop ourselves, we're both laughing like it's the funniest fucking thing ever.

And it's not that it's so hilarious—it's that we're both so damned happy. We're happy to the point of being delirious.

And it's the best motherfucking day of my life—except maybe for all the days that will come after it, as long as my pretty girl's in it with me.

**THE END**


End file.
